


sketches, drabbles, and codas

by curiositykilled



Series: whisper something holy [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, sorry - Freeform, tenses switch with my mood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6553852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiositykilled/pseuds/curiositykilled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the bits and bobs from the "whisper something holy" 'verse that didn't make it into the main text</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

      When death came, it wasn’t all that surprising. Lucy had slipped away, quiet and peaceful, only a few months before, and Desmond had held her cold hand and known, somehow, that he’d see her soon. He’d long ago lost the gift of prophecy, but there were some things he knew as surely as a promise. His end was soon.

      He pushed off the floor of their porch, sent the swing swaying back, forward, back again. Push. Back, forward. 

      “Hey, kid.”

      Desmond started in surprise before a slow smile took over his face. When he looked up, Malik was leaning against the rail of the house with his usual slack back stance. He still had the same wicked smirk and cool grey-blue eyes, but he had a gap where his left arm should be and a dark blue jacket that looked clean, pressed. Under all that, something fundamental had changed.

      “I’m really not a kid anymore,” Desmond objected.

      Malik scoffed and glanced over as Altaïr stepped onto the porch. Desmond couldn’t say where they’d come from, as usual, but he felt the same basal change as he had with Malik. Something had healed within them both, leaving them lighter than he’d ever seen.

      “Have a nice vacation?” Desmond asked.

      Altaïr smiled. It was a small thing, newly formed.

      “I’ve been with an old friend of yours,”they said.

      “Oh,” Desmond managed.

      His breath caught, a funny, wet hitch in the back of his lungs. He’d been ready - he’d  _ known. _ It was different, somehow, when they said that so easily.

      “So, I guess it’s my time?” he asked.

      Once upon a time, he would have cringed in horror at the uncertainty in his own voice. Altaïr turned their gaze thoughtfully towards the west, and Malik watched them. There was no fear there anymore, just patience and warmth. Altaïr turned back to Desmond with a small cant to their head.

      “I’ve always loved the sunsets from this perspective,” they said. “Would you mind if we joined you?”

      Desmond swallowed down the choke in his throat and managed a nod.

      “Yeah, of course,” he said.

      He shifted slightly to make room on the old swing. They took either side of him, Altaïr on the right and Malik on the left, and somehow the swing didn’t seem any heavier for the two extra bodies. It swayed, back, forward, back. Altaïr prodded it along at a leisurely pace, and slowly, Desmond relaxed back into the wooden slats of the swing. Altaïr was still cool beside him, and Malik still a touch overwarm, and it left him in a familiar feeling of safety, of home.

      The sunset was beautiful. He couldn’t remember another like it: the horizon was kissed with gold, red flushing above it and warming the underbellies of the clouds. Overhead, the sky was still blue; it darkened to indigo with speckles of stars cast out like freckles, like snowflakes, like tiny droplets of infinity. He couldn’t find the words to describe it. 

      The swing swayed back, forward. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik had an apartment before it all went to shit.
> 
>  
> 
> [inspired by a comment that "Malik needs plants who fear 'God' or rather Malik."]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was inspired by a comment Ioeth made on the main text, which was pretty much perfect.
> 
>  
> 
> (also pls don't judge me for bad fake surnames. I couldn't think of anything else.)

          Malik had an apartment before it all went to shit. He’d gotten out of Hell the way all demons did -  blood-splattered and teeth bared - and then he’d settled into his new workplace. An apartment was second on his list, right after clothes for his meatsuit. Whatever era they’d come from, it wasn’t a good one: they wore long grey robes and a garishly obvious red sash. It was quick work to slip a jacket, shirt, and pants from under a clerk’s nose. They’d get fired for shoplifting, probably. Malik grinned.

          Then, the apartment. It had to be spacious, something that fit an angel burnt and charred into a demon. He eyed the penthouse of the building across the street. It was nice enough, all brick and black. It would be easy to kick the current occupants, out, too, and one of them even looked to be his size. A free wardrobe was hardly a downside. And yet -

          He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t throw them out. Something ached in his chest at the thought, fear and desperation like the sour taste of cold coffee down his throat.

_‘Vessels remember.’_

_The demon had had sooty wings, neat and cared for despite the scars. She’d brushed a hand gently over his cheek._

_‘Be careful of those memories, Malik,’ she’d said._

          Malik grimaced at the memory. He’d asked, after, who she was. _‘Maria. Altaïr’s lovebird,’ another demon had said before pausing and giving him a funny look. ‘One of them, anyway.’_ He hadn’t pressed it, had stabbed the demon through the throat and carried on. Now the words came back.

          “Fine,” he muttered, “you twat. I’ll find an empty one.”

          He ended up in a loft with walls of windows and an industrial, unfinished aesthetic. Changing the lease information was easy enough, and no one was any wiser that one Malik Nomed lived at 42 A South Paradise Lane.

          Well, almost no one.

          “Malik?”

          The palm frond smacked him in the face, brittle leaves sharp against his skin, and he flinched back. There were plants everywhere. They’d been there when he showed up, overflowing in corners and on shelves, and he hadn’t thought much about them. Plants weren’t like a puppy or a hamster: they just grew.

          He was wrong.

          “Goddammit you blasted piece of shit,” he swore, smacking the watering can down on the endtable. “You absolutely bloody useful waste of space.”

          The fronds dipped a little, as if ashamed. _Good_. He scowled at it.

          “I should give you to a fucking community garden for all the good you do,” he continued.

          The leaves swayed despondently. He glared. Behind him were quiet footsteps, soft as a cat’s paws.

          “Malik?” Maria asked. “Are you talking to the plants?”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working back through the main text recently for a side project, and that got me missing this 'verse again. So, all those ideas I said I'd write when I was working on wsh? Well, hopefully they'll end up here.
> 
> If you have any ideas/requests, please let me know! I love hearing you guys' ideas and am always in need of prompts.


End file.
